From Before And Beyond The Universe
by Sweet Darkling
Summary: The start of a series of non-chronological, unrelated one-shots, inspired by quotes from Doctor Who, mostly humourous and always Slytherin."It won't be quiet, it won't be safe and it won't be calm." She was screaming at him and gods did her throat hurt...
1. Bananas are good

**Disclaimer****: **I don't own Harry Potter.

**Author's note****: **This was inspired by the Doctor Who Quotes Challenge, at .net/topic/44309/17264478/1/. It's very...odd. And unusual, but I quite like it. Please tell me what's wrong (or right) with it. Reviews make the world a happier place.

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**From Before And Beyond The Universe**

"_Bananas are good"_

Draco felt a little sick when he saw Astoria eating her cereal with a great helping of bananas. Ok, it was a lot more than a little sick. He had to run to the bathroom before he annoyed Astoria enough for her to stamp her feet (several times), screech for the first ten minutes and then grumble intermittently for the rest of the day. He was glad he'd avoided all that, he thought as he hugged the toilet seat like a best friend he hadn't seen in years. He _was_ glad. Most of him was glad.

A tiny part of him wasn't. A tiny part of him was thoroughly fed up of her and wanted to do everything in his power that would make her finally leave him. Except giving up his money of course. And his mansion. And his magic. And his hair gel, expensive clothes and his position in society. Aside from these necessary adjuncts to a civilised life, he was willing to do anything to get rid of Astoria, like throwing up because he saw her eating bananas.

It wasn't a personal grudge against bananas. In fact, he liked them. He liked them a lot. Once upon a time, he used to love them a lot. But circumstances changed, people changed and bananas reminded him of a very scary sore point of a witch – one with dark hair, brown eyes, a dazzling smile, an infuriating smirk and the funniest scowl he'd ever seen. He didn't miss her one bit. Hell no. He didn't think about her snuggling when he went to bed at night, trying to put as much distance between Astoria and himself. He didn't think about her curled up under duvet when he woke up in the morning. (She wasn't a morning person like Astoria at all.) He didn't think about her blearily eating breakfast at half the pace she ate her every other meal. (Astoria ate it far too perkily for a normal witch, he thought.) He didn't think about her shovelling three plates of food at lunch. (Astoria ate what looked like food for an anorexic rabbit to him.) He didn't think about her eating her dinner with gesturing arms that were a danger to all those sitting near her. (Astoria was so demure when she ate dinner that he frequently forgot that she was there.) And he most definitely did NOT think about her when he saw bananas.

Except that he did. As he sat clutching the toilet for dear life, he thought about bananas and banana related memories. Specifically, banana related memories involving _her_. He thought about the first time he'd seen her eat a banana – that first morning in Hogwarts. She'd taken a banana, peeled it, and taken two bites before glancing across the table at him. She'd given him a small smile, mouth full of a third bite of banana, before turning back to the girls sitting next to her and continuing with the conversation. He'd watched her eat a banana every morning that week, no matter what else she ate. In the second week, he took a banana and ate it. He liked it – a lot. He'd eaten a banana every morning that second week, all the time watching the girl eat a banana every morning too. Sometimes she'd smile at him and he'd scowl at her, embarrassed to be caught staring. They ate a banana every morning for that whole year at Hogwarts. When he went back home for the summer holidays, he didn't eat a single banana. He wondered why she never got tired of it, after a whole year. And then he wondered why he hadn't gotten tired of it either. He couldn't think of a reason.

In the second year, it started out the same as first year. They both ate bananas every morning. She talked to him now and then. Then the attacks began and she started getting nervous. She began playing with the banana she used to eat every morning until one day she didn't eat it at all. The next day, he self-consciously passed her a banana. She ate it. He gave her a banana every day after that, eating one himself too.

Third year saw him lose his appetite. The dememtors had raised a lot of demons for a lot of people but she was the one helping him through it all. He didn't doubt that she had her own monsters to deal with but she gave him a banana every morning and he ate it. He kept an eye on her to make sure she ate it too. They talked more, a little awkwardly. Then he got slashed by the stupid hippogriff and she cried. She cried and she came to see him in the hospital wing several times every day. She always came at breakfast time, bringing a banana in case he didn't get one there. He talked to her a lot after that, without awkwardness.

Fourth year was relatively normal, banana wise. He asked her to the Yule Ball. She said yes. He couldn't think of anyone else he'd rather go with. Except Fleur Delacour but she wouldn't have said yes. She gave him his first kiss that night and all he could think about were bananas. They kissed a fair bit that year and he found out that he liked it a lot. Just like bananas. He missed it in the summer holidays. He didn't miss the bananas that much.

Fifth year introduced a revolution in terms of bananas in a way that had completely caught him off guard. It was one night – he'd be lying if he said he didn't remember _which_ night. They'd been together in his room, alone and kissing and she'd muttered that she liked bananas. He'd replied laughingly that he hadn't guessed it. She'd giggled lightly at that. By the time he had worked out what she'd meant, his face was brightly flushed, his words were incoherent and his mind couldn't make sense of anything but sensations. After that, he never ate bananas but his eyes always laughed into hers when she ate them. He'd ignore the tingles down his back and push those thoughts out of his mind until they were next alone.

Sixth year introduced another revolution, an unpleasant one this time. He began to push her away, distancing himself as his failure and death loomed closer and closer. Worse still, his mother's death dangled above his head. He lost his temper with her several times. He made her cry several more times, intentionally and not. She started handing him bananas at breakfast, more and more timidly as time went on. He broke up with her, breaking her heart and she carried on handing him bananas in the morning. It was during that summer that he realised she'd stopped eating them herself.

The year after that, what should have been his seventh year, was hell. For her too, he suspected. He ate a banana every morning. It was the only thing that seemed untainted by his crazy aunt and sadistic 'master'. He didn't know what she did. He guessed that she didn't eat any.

The year after that, once his family survived the threat of life imprisonment in Azkaban, he began to eat bananas every morning again, often toying with them, formulating futile plots and plans to get her back. It all became moot when he walked into The Leaky Cauldron and saw her having breakfast with Blaise. She was eating a banana (or, now that he recalled it, he hadn't actually seen her eat it). Either way, that had been the final straw and he'd begun his search for her replacement, refusing to look at bananas, let alone eat them.

The year after that, he'd found Astoria, the girl of his dreams. She was now the lead of his nightmares. He'd thought she was perfect for an entire year, before little things annoyed him. Then bigger things began annoying him. And now, he had to strain his mind think of something that didn't annoy him about Astoria.

It was as he was hugging the toilet tightly, his stomach now devoid of contents, that he got a banana epiphany. After all this time, if bananas still reminded him of her, shouldn't he do something about it? Like maybe dump Astoria (he shuddered as he thought her name) and do something to win her back? He could take Blaise on any day (even if Blaise did have more money than him, better looks and a more respected social standing).

Draco shakily stood up and wondered what he should do. In the end, his creativity all gone, he decided to send bunches of bananas to Pansy until she decided to grace him with her presence. And when she did grace him with her presence (failure was not an option), he planned on eloping with her as quickly as possible. They could sort out all the social coils afterwards but damned if he would let her leave him again. He missed his bananas and he missed her!

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**Author's Note****: **Please tell me what you think of it. In particular, how were the tenses? Did they feel awkward? I realised that most of Draco's memories were in the present tense (sort of) but I felt that the writing flowed better that way. Anyway, I'm SO happy with this one – not because it's particularly good but because it's finally broken the huge writer's block I've had, relating to my favourite fiction pairing (along with Rose and the Doctor of course – any doctor will do). Anyway, I'd especially like to hear from Draco/Pansy fans out there and Doctor Who fans. It's combined my three greatest current loves: David Tennant, Doctor Who and Draco/Pansy. I hope you guys liked it as much as I enjoyed writing it (all in the space of one night too!).

Trina


	2. It won't be quiet, it won't be safe

**Disclaimer****:** I don't own Harry Potter.

**Author's Note****:** Written over three or four days. And I quite like this one too. I love the fusion of Doctor Who and Harry Potter.

**Thanks****:** A thanks to ClumsyTonks, youshallnotpass, queenoftheoutlands, princesa_de_plata, Penulis, Shadow Padawan and Megaman-NT-Warrior, for all the support they've given by reviewing and/or adding this story to story alert. It all means a lot to me.

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**From Before And Beyond The Universe**

**It won't be quiet, it won't be safe and it won't be calm.**

She was screaming at him and gods did her throat hurt. But she couldn't stop screaming at him, not really. It felt too damn good. It felt too damn good and it had been too damn long since she had last screamed at him, the blonde little twat.

"Pansy..." He managed to edge in, but that was all he managed to edge in before her voice broke through, screaming at him, though her words made little sense by now and though her sentences lacked all coherence. But that was her – lacking sense and coherence, defying odds and possibilities, being utter chaos and unmanageable. And, whether it was because he was masochistic or whether it was because he was crazy, but he missed it all. He even missed her screaming at him.

"Pansy..." He tried again, and failed again because she was furious. She was furious and wondered in what world or what universe he could ever have imagined that this would work. Or what the hell it even meant? Or how it could be construed as romantic, because all she saw was cheap, stupid and possibly dirty in a physical manifestation of an innuendo type of way. Bananas? Really? What the hell was wrong with the boy?

"DON'T TALK TO ME!" She wasn't sure what was more effective – her ridiculously shrill voice screaming so loudly in a room with acoustics to exaggerate it, or the wand that she was waving recklessly around. _Good thing if some sparks randomly hit him, too_, she thought, viciously. "I TOLD YOU TO NEVER COME NEAR ME AGAIN!" Well, that wasn't entirely true. She had said that to him, when he'd first broken up with her, but then, she'd gone back to him, asking him for a second chance, telling him that she loved him and...yes, cringe-moment: she had told him to come to her whenever he changed his mind. Damn it. How the hell was she supposed to know that one day, she'd be over him (almost) and wouldn't want him to come back to her (again, almost)?

"PANSY!" It's not a questioning 'Pansy' that Draco says, but a command he shouts, and Pansy's sure that she looks as surprised as he looks. And again, it's the wrong thing for him to have said because before she knows it, her hands have grabbed the nearest object and flung it at a Draco that ducks wildly to avoid getting hit, her anger blinding her to the effective weapon that her wand, clutched in her left hand, is. Or maybe she didn't want to seriously maim or injure him? She's not convinced she didn't want to, and she's not convinced she doesn't want to but she doesn't lift her wand at him.

"What the fuck!" She doesn't know why but everything Draco's doing is apparently the wrong thing because her hand grabs the next nearest object and flings it at him. This time, it doesn't miss him completely, the shards flicking onto his skin as he yelps more in surprise than pain.

"Pansy..." He tries again and fails miserably again. This time, the teacup she threw hits him on the forehead. She has a sneaking suspicion that he allowed it to hit him but it gives her a satisfying glow inside anyway. And, to keep the glow going, she grabs the saucer that the teacup was on (because what can you do with a saucer without a teacup anyway?) and she throws that at him. This time, he turns his head to the side, lifting his hand lazily, too late to deflect the saucer that hits him on the side of head and makes one slim river of red, working its way slowly down his face. She gets a satisfying glow inside again but a few seconds later, it's replaced by a nauseating, crippling concern that makes her drop her wand and forget her irrational anger and run to him.

"Draco...?" Her voice sounds odd in her ears and she wonders if it sounds as odd in his, as he looks at her cautiously, watching her approach with a look that said clearly that he was ready to protect himself. Her feet had brought her over to him before her mind had processed what she could possibly do, and she found herself uncertain, looking at Draco. Just as uncertainly, she lifted a hand towards him, feeling a mixture of emotions she couldn't understand or describe as he instinctively flinched from her hand. Resisting the urge to slap him hard or draw her nails painfully down his face, she instead laid it gently beneath his wound, his blood mingling with her fingers.

She was surprised at how empty she felt. Emotions, anger, sickening, furious anger had all evaporated, leaving behind...what? Nothing? Was this what they were now? Empty, fake anger, disguising the nothingness behind it all? Was this what he was to her? But hadn't the anger been real? And what was she to him? Because she could tell, from the way his eyes never left her face, never wavered or wondered around, that he felt something. Something other than the nothing that she felt.

She didn't see it coming. She never felt it coming or imagined it coming. She should have. Common sense and basic concepts of sight said that she should have seen him move, felt him move beneath her fingers, seen his face come towards hers but she never saw it coming. And then his lips were on hers, and it wasn't the burning sensations stories talked about. It wasn't electricity running through her body that books talked about. It was something else, something different entirely. Something her mind and body and soul couldn't comprehend or imagine. Something she couldn't describe or _want_ to describe, because it was them. It was her and him, him and her and everything that meant. Everything that it didn't mean, everything they had been through before, everything they would go through now.

Her arms were around his neck, pulling him closer to her, wrapping herself around him in a symbol of god knows whatever she was feeling and his arms were wrapped around her, not in an embrace that was painful because she knew he could never hurt her (not physically, at least) but in an embrace that was strong, nonetheless, that told her clearly that he'd be damned before he let her go again. And things were flying everywhere, not in anger or rage but because of whatever they were feeling and they were here, there, moving around and against things and on top of things without fully realising it because their lips were touching every part of each other that they could touch.

And how the hell had she thought that she felt empty when everything in their wake was chaos. Pure, loud, violent, chaos. They never were quiet. They never were safe. And they never were calm. Nor would they ever be.


End file.
